Fire and Death: Rise of an Era
by SterlingWillhoit
Summary: The Lich King has fallen, and the enslaved souls of Frostmourne are free at last. In the broken realm of Outland, deep within the Black Temple, the Betrayer has regained his sanity once more, but all is not well for in the world of Azeroth the mindless undead hordes, now leaderless, are rampaging across the lands. Through the flames and over the fallen, a new era has begun.
1. Chapter 1

**This story is going to be loosely based upon lore and much of it will be retconned to fit. The premise is that WoTLK happened before BC. The most important change is that Bolvar Fordragon died at the battle of Wrathgate. I can't express how many times I have had to raid Wiki for info. I stopped playing Warcraft after the Frozen Throne. Feel free to leave any comments. I will answer any questions asked in reviews in the next chapter assuming they are not future plot related as spoilers ruin a good tale. **

**Disclaimer: Warcraft is the property of Blizzard Entertainment, and I take no credit for anything inside this story besides any original characters created by myself.**

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Chapter 1: "Cry Havoc..."

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Icecrown Citadel. Despite the onyx walls, it seemed like the icy winds of Northrend managed to creep in, seeping in from those abyssal walls to sap what little strength remained in its victims. The unnatural blue flames that danced in the braziers proved to be of no help as they radiated a sense of wrongness that chilled the soul more then any snow and ice ever could. The sounds of battle could be heard echoing through the great halls, but where they were truly coming from was anyone's guess. This place had a way of distorting things. If one looked at a wall for too long they would see shadows dance across the surface begging the viewer to come closer, faces inside the flames screaming at them in agony, and scratching upon the floors that kept them glancing behind them in fear of seeing more rotten carcasses lumbering their way. It was enough to drive someone insane. Just another hallway in the terror of Icecrown Citadel.

Pushing her blond hair out of her face with her free hand, she took a deep breath, instantly regretting it as the cold air rushed in to remind her, painfully, of where she was. Jaina Proudmore was no longer sure how long the battle for Icecrown Citadel had raged, but she understood one thing: the battle depended on them. Two groups had been sent in to destroy him. To end Arthas. One lead by herself and the other by Tirion Fordring. She wasn't sure how he was doing as they lost sight of each other soon after entering. Jaina dearly hoped Fordring was doing better then she and what was left of her 'soldiers'. Jaina turned her head just far enough to cast her azure eyes at the battered group of soldiers, miscreants, and adventures that stumbled on behind her. Men and women. orcs and dwarves. It was the first time since the battle of Mount Hyjal that the members of the 'Horde' and the remnants of the Grand Alliance came together to face a foe greater than either, but it was a fools hope at best. Everyone of them knew this attack was suicidal. A small chance of success and certain death, but they all knew the price of what would happen should they fail. The Lich King would regroup and lead his legions to subjugate Azeroth. The battle raging at the gates was merely a diversion to draw the Lich Kings attention from the two kill-teams, but the battle had been vicious to get to this point, twelve was all that remained of the fifty she had lead into the icy hell.

One human woman, once donned in immaculate plate armor trimmed in gold with arcane etches stretching across the surface, was now sporting crimson armor. Bits of flesh still clung to pieces of it, and there was even a small tooth still lodged into the metal of the pauldron. The woman's breath came out in gasps as her battered blade was being dragged behind her. Her strength had long since abandoned her and only her strength of will kept her body moving. To be fair, Jaina doubted she looked much better herself. She could not stand without leaning heavily on her staff, her robes had small tears covering it from the claws of the ghouls that had, moments ago, came at them in an unending sea of teeth. Jaina counted herself lucky that her robe was managing to stay on at all.

"We're almost there." Jaina called to rally what little hope was left, but to her ears her own voice sounded weak and tired. A few in the group met her eyes, but many stared at the ground using all their remaining energy to just place one foot in front of the other. It did not help that her words echoed in the hall as if to mock her. Almost there. Almost there. How many times had she said that to them? Jaina wasn't sure anymore, but she could feel it. This time it was the truth.

Jaina took another painful deep breath and resumed her walk towards the ominous door. Every step towards the door was harder then the last. It was no enchantment, but the knowledge of what was waiting for her at the end of this hall. Arthas. She was terrified of being faced with him again, but she had to. Many had attempted to talk her out of this, but they did not understand. How could they? To them Arthas was just a monster. The Lich King. They did not see the freckled boy who once had spent an entire afternoon picking her flowers. The vulnerable man who begged her to never deny him. All they saw was the monster that had to be slain. She couldn't let him be put to rest by those people. She had abandoned him at Stratholme and left him to bear the burden alone. This time she would not run.

The weary group stopped at the base of the great door, the skulls and faces ingrained into the archway screaming at them to flee before they ended with the same fate, but their screams were ignored as an exhausted tauren heaved his chipped mace and smashed it into the door using his natural brute strength and size to his advantage. The massive door gave in with a resounding crack as wooden splinters exploded into the bright room beyond. The skulls adorning the gate wailed in pain, but they were forgotten as the group of would-be heroes saw their goal. They had assumed the hall would lead them to a throne room, and they were almost correct. A icy plateau stretched before them, and Jaina had to look away as the suns rays burned her eyes after spending hours within the dark citadel. Once the pain had cleared, Jaina took her first true look at the Frozen Throne. The great throne of ice was situated directly opposite of the door, but she was dismayed, and yet relieved, to see it was unoccupied, but it did not take long to locate the large imposing being. The Lich King stood staring down the side of the plateau gazing at the battle below him with his back to her, Jaina was not quite sure what he was doing until he raised his gauntlets to the skies, "Worms."

Jaina's breath caught as the Lich King unleashed a massive torrent of raw magical power. It was mind numbing as she could not even begin to fathom the amount of power he had just unleashed, but she knew whatever it was it could not be good. In this, Jaina was correct for the massive spell unleashed by the Lich King had resurrected not only all his forces slain in the raging battle below but all of the enemies recently dead as well. Untold thousands raised in an instant. The exhausted and outnumbered Horde and Alliance would not be able to hold out much longer against the renewed assault, but Jaina was still in shock over the amount of power he had released. At the battle of Mount Hyjal she had seen only one thing comparable and that was Archimonde's felsorcery. The mere prospect of fighting such a being was like an icy hand that grasped her heart, freezing her in terror.

"Lok'tar Ogar!"

The scared orc roared his challenge at the Lich King's back and charged with his axe raised in defiance. In that instant, Jaina realized that she had absolutely no idea who the orc was besides one of the survivors of the group. Such bravery in the face of certain death, and she could not even recall his name. As the orc neared the monstrous perversion of Arthas his great black braids bouncing off his back; Jaina had a sickening realization. It was not that the Lich King had not noticed their entrance, in fact, it would have been hard not to given the amount of noise the door smashing down had been. It was that the Lich King did not consider them a threat. In his eyes, they were insects barely worth swatting. As if to cement that belief in her mind, the large form of the Lich King turned with speed that belied his large size, his movements were blurred as the dread blade Frostmourne cut through both air and orcflesh splattering the ground and the Lich King in the orc's blood.

Jaina wasn't sure the orc even had time to register that he had died. The orc's corpse smashed into the ground besides the Lich King with a heavy thud. His chest cleaved open from shoulder to waist. The Lich King lowered Frostmourne down to the orc's body, and incomprehensible whispers seeped from the blade as it eagerly drank the soul of his victim. Despite the cruel end, the orc's courage inspired her and loosened terrors grip. With a quick glance, she noticed that the others in the group had recovered as well, but it also seemed that the Lich King was finally going to acknowledge their presence. With one large boot, he kicked the carcass of the orc off the ledge of the plateau letting it tumble through the icy winds of Northrend and down to the frozen plains below.

The Lich King raised the cursed blade at the group, his blue eyes burning with the hatred of the worms that had dared enter his domain. With a great warcry, the battered group charged, and Jaina started to draw what power she could, with the intention of using the natural frozen terrain to strengthen her affinity for ice magic letting the others distract the Lich King to buy her time for her spell.

The first to come at the Lich King was a troll huntress, Jaina recalled that her panther had been killed by having its back shattered by an abomination early in the assault, the huntress raised her daggers intending to slip through the Lich King's guard, but however fast she was, the Lich King still possessed that unnatural quickness, and she was rewarded with the sinking feeling of the dread blade impaling through her stomach; the tip of the blade ripping out the back of her spine killing her instantly. Jaina released a small incantation under her breath willing the arcane arts to heed her call. Thin azure ice wrapped around the trolls wound trapping frostmourne inside her stomach and while Jaina internally winced at her actions there was no helping it. The troll was long dead and her soul torn out. There was no helping her.

Not bothering to waste time dispelling the weak incantation, the Lich King swung his left hand out catching a young night elf sentinel in the jaw. Suddenly the night elf found himself giving Jaina a puzzled look, his last thought being why he was turned around, as his neck was snapped by the powerful blow.

Jaina had to fight to keep her hands steady as the Lich King tore through the group like a knife through butter. Attempting to buy them time she brought her hands together, snow whirled around her, and the wind began to howl. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a gnome priest attempt to bring the brave orc back to life, but she knew it was a fools hope. With his soul gone, there was no hope of resurrection, but his attempts were cut short as the boot of the Lich King descended upon the gnome with a distinctive crunch, and Jaina nearly lost her concentration and the contents of her stomach from the sight.

Jaina thrust her hands forward, even thought the spell was not yet completely ready; she could not afford to wait any long. A whirling vortex of wind fired from her hands with ice shards shredding and tearing anything the vortex covered, heading straight for the Lich King. She watched on in desperation as the spell tore a path of destruction across the plateau, but what little hope she had was dashed when the Lich King reached out and grabbed a hold of the tauren hosting it in front of him as if the bull was as light as paper. The ice shards tore the tauren to shreds gouging out large sections of flesh and fur, staining even more of the icy plateau red, but it wasn't perfect as the vortex engulfed both tauren and Lich King. The icy shards tore at what unarmored sections they could find spilling blood from the neigh-invincible being.

Despite her success at least injuring the Lich King; Jaina was unsure on why the spell had even worked. She had meant it to simply distract him, not touch him. Jaina was more then sure the Lich King could have easily have deflected such a spell, and then, as if struck by lightning, she understood. He was drained! Not only had he still not recovered fully from the Wrathgate, but the massive spell had taken its toll on the Lich King. Jaina tightened her grip on her staff, this was their best, and most likely last, chance at taking him down, but as the Lich King grasped the hilt of frostmourne and shattered the frozen corpse of the troll to reclaim his blade; Jaina felt the last reserves of her courage drain away. There was no stopping him.

Jaina fought the shiver that ran through her body when the Lich King turned to her his burning blue eyes staring straight through her. She blinked when she realized that he was indeed looking straight through her, taking her chances, she turned her head to follow his gaze and her heart leap at the sight. Tirion Fordring stood in the shattered doorway; his armor was battered but his head was held high and in his hand: the mighty blade Ashbringer. Jaina did notice that Tirion was alone. She lowered her eyes in a brief moment of sorrow. His path must have been vastly more difficult as hers.

"Arthas!" Tirion said his voice loud and strong just as his brothers had been, "It is judgment time."

The deep hollow laughing of the Lich King made Jaina's hairs stand on end, "Judgment? Ants do not judge gods." His laughter stopped as he pointed his blade at Tirion, "Frostmourne hungers."

Tirion gave a roar as he charged in swinging the Ashbringer over his head to meet the Lich King head on. Sparks and cracks of magical power exploded from each meeting of the two blades. One which devoured souls and the other which saved them. The survivors of the group looked on and Jaina understood their hesitancy. Even she was unsure of what to do. The sight of them paralyzed her and despair crept in even in the sight of such a fierce duel. Once more she couldn't do what needed to be done. Jaina closed her eyes and let out a slow breath content to wallow in her own misery when she heard the Lich King roar in pain.

Flashing open her eyes, she spotted a burly dwarf gazing up at the Lich King in defiance as his axe was buried deep into the back of his knee biting clean through the unholy armor. Jaina flinched as the Lich King's burning eyes swept over them. Jaina felt the stirring of powerful magic and quickly moved her staff in front of her and channeled all her remaining energy into a powerful arcane shield, but she wouldn't be able to extend it far enough to protect the others. She tried to scream at them to run to her, but it was too late. Frostmourne was thrust into the ground and a shockwave erupted from the blade.

Jaina's shield started to waver against the onslaught of raw power as even the ground was being blown apart. Large chunks of the plateau fractured and collapsed down into the valley beneath and despite the rumbling she heard the wails of the ones hit as their souls were torn from their body and devoured by the unholy blade, but as quick as it came it was over. Jaina nearly collapsed from both exhaustion and horror, but thanks to her staff, she remained on her feet. The dead lay covering the plateau; the last of her men were gone. Tears rolled freely down her eyes. But it wasn't over yet. The Lich King pulled frostmourne free and once more his hollow voice said, "So the old relic lives."

Jaina tried to blink the tears from her eyes, but it was difficult to do as the trail that lead down her chin had already frozen, even so, she did see Tirion. The paladin had stabbed the Ashbringer into the ground in front of him using the holy blade to ward of the powerful necromantic spell. Tirion pulled the blade from the ground his face filled with anger at the unnecessary deaths. His will filled with righteous fury, Tirion leapt at the Lich King each of his heavy blows accompanied by a declaration.

"For King Terenas!" Tirion cried as his blade smashed into frostmourne and the startled Lich King that wielded it, "For your father!"

"For Uther! For the Silverhand!" The ashbringer seemed to glow as it crashed with the dread blade sending sparks dancing through the air. Under the onslaught the Lich King began to give ground his arms buckling from the force of the blows.

"For the light!" Tirion cried lifting the blade over his head intending to end the duel once and for all when the hollow voice erupted, "Enough!" The Lich King swung frostmourne up in a return slice.

The two mighty blades met and the resulting force from the blow sent Jaina's hair wiping around her face, but even over the howling wind that sound of metal shattering was deafening. It was odd then as the world seemed to slow down. The Ashbringer exploded in light and shards as the holy blade shattered from the power of frostmourne, and the orb, the heart of the blade, cracked.

Shards of metal lodged themselves deep into Tirion's body as his blood stained the ground. The holy warrior fell to the ground as Lich King lifted his chin in victory.

"I'm so sorry Arthas." Jaina whispered her voice cracking as fresh tears ran over the frozen paths down her cheeks. The Lich King paused and turned his head to gaze upon Jaina as she collapsed to her knees letting her tears flow.

"I should have been there with you." Jaina continued fighting the sobs that threatened to overwhelm her. It was almost as if she was in her world as she paid no attention to the sight of the Lich King approaching, no attention to the howling wind that stole her words away, or the sound of snow crunching under heavy boots.

"Arthas even now." Jaina whispered as the Lich King, as Arthas, raised frostmourne above his head to strike her down, "I love you." But the strike did not come. What small part of Arthas remained in the Lich King hesitated for a moment. Just a moment, but it was all that was needed. The Lich King roared in pain and fury as the hilt of the Ashbringer was stabbed into his back.

Turning the Lich King struck the mutilated Tirion with a vengeful fist launching him over the edge of the plateau where the paladin finally met his end on the floor of the valley thousands of feet below, but a victorious smile was etched on Tirion's lips. The Lich King fell to his knees roaring in pain as the holy power of the Ashbringer rushed through his veins burning and cleansing its way through his unholy form. Jaina was unsure how it happened, but the Lich King continued to convulse so much that he fell to his hands and his helm slid off to clash onto the ground. The Lich King attempted to reach out for his helm, but the pain was overwhelming forcing him back down, and finally, for the first time in years, Jaina saw Arthas again.

His hair was no longer the golden mane she remembered, instead it was a sickly white as if all the color had been bleed away. Jaina slowly climbed to her feet the tears still flowing freely from not only her own memories but the sounds of his screams. They were no longer the hollow voice of the Lich King, but the screams of Arthas. Jaina understood what she had to do now, at last, she would be there for him. She would end his pain. Crouching down, Jaina lifted the fallen frostmourne; the massive blade nearly too much for her to lift, but conviction pushed her on as she hoisted the blade above her head and prepared to strike at the source of it all, the helm of the Lich King.

Then she heard it. The whispering. It was so small as if something was scratching at the back of her head. It was a sweet whisper promising her power. Power to defend the ones she loved. Power to go back to those days when it was just her and Arthas when the worlds problems seemed to be just that. The worlds problems, not theirs. Jaina desperately shook her head trying to get rid of them. The voices, they were so strong. So convincing, but a painful scream from Arthas shook her from her trance, "No! Don't do it!"

With a hand trembling in pain, Arthas feebly reached out for the helm. With a soul rending scream, Jaina brought the cursed blade down upon the helm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Warcraft is the property of Blizzard Entertainment, and I take no credit for anything inside this story besides any original characters created by myself.**

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Chapter 2: "And loose the shambling hordes."

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The ground of Icecrown, once sickly and blackened by unholy powers was now painted red as blood flowed in rivers. Captain Duncan Anwirn fought back the bile that rose to the back of his throat as he took a step further into the chaotic battle, only to have his foot sink as he stepped onto a fallen ghoul, his heavy boot crushing through the creature's rib cage. The sickening crunch that he could make out even over the clashing of steel, screams of men, and the groaning of the dead. The revolting tainted goo-like black blood that clung to his boot as he pulled free of the fallen monster, and the sound of a boot escaping from the inside of a rib cage was best left unspoken.

Duncan's armor, once fine polished chainmail, was a deep sheen of crimson as the nicked and battered metal had been bathed in the blood of the scourge and his allies. The chainmail had broken rings hanging freely broken lose by the clumsy blows of the undead that had moments ago been swarming around him. He had no clue as to where his helm had gone as near the start of the battle a ghoul had lunged at him and tore it off in at attempt to get to his eyes and soft flesh that lay beneath. His long auburn hair blew wildly in the harsh winds of Icecrown; the clothe he had used to tie it back long gone. His sword, once a mighty two-handed blade with a eagleclaw hilt and holy runes running along the blade, had been shattered. In his right hand, he grasped only the handle with two feet of jagged steel remaining, but even still, he refused to loosen his grip or grab a fallen weapon, for it was a gift given to him by High General Brigitte Abbendis before she had been murdered. His Scarlet Onslaught tabard, the red sigil of Lordaeron, was torn to shreds and barely clung to his armor.

Duncan's breath came out in short gasps as he tried to gather his wits. His deep brown eyes swept the nearby battle trying to determine how the battle was going. They were being pushed back, but that much was obvious. The fight was never one they could win to begin with. If the stories that had passed through the night before held a kernel of truth then they were merely the distraction to draw attention away from the Lich King so that a team of 'elite' warriors could end him. Elite was a generous term for disgusting beings such as Orcs and Trolls, but desperate times. At first, they had the upper hand, their righteous fury driving the undead back as they swept their ranks, but then the curse of mortality had sunken in. While they grew tired, the undead fought on. While they grew hungry, the undead fought on, and finally, it had taken a turn for the worst when all they had killed, and their own comrades, had been brought back from the dead. The horror that gripped each soldier cost them vital moments that the undead seized on cutting down entire squadrons before they had time to react. It was clear now; they were falling. Duncan swept his eyes along the ranks of warriors; Humans and Non-humans alike as they fought on with what little they had left, but he could also make out warriors fleeing, running for their lives and while he wished to spit and call them cowards; he could not deny the trembling of his hands. It took everything he had to not run for his life as well to appear strong so that others would not panic.

"Captain Anwirn!" A shaky voice called and snapped Duncan out of his haze, he turned to face the terrified soldier.

"We can't hold them. We have to retreat." The soldier pleaded, his own Scarlet tabard in shreds, and Duncan wasn't sure if the blood he was covered in was his own or not.

"No." Duncan said simply, willingly his hands to stop trembling, "The Scarlet Onslaught does not retreat. Especially when those responsible for her death fight on." Yes, the onslaught was gone. Duncan knew that as well as what remained of his men. Slain by a Night Elf. The Night Elf didn't even have the courage to face the High General, instead, shooting her in the back as she dueled the night elves companions. While every bone in his body had willed him to seek out that night elf; he had a duty to fulfill. He would not back the traitorous Admiral, he would accomplish the High General's dream. The scourge would die this day.

"Charge! For the High General! For Abbendis!" Duncan shouted, his voice cracking from the strain and dehydration. Lifting his shattered blade, he charged at the ranks of the dead once more. Duncan stopped dead when he realized that the battle had stopped. The Alliance, Horde, and Scourge had frozen, their faces gazing up at the Citadel, and Duncan found himself following their gaze. Above the black citadel, a blue ethereal pillar was piercing the sky, and while he could not make out what was moving around the pillar from this distance, there was a feeling of... righteousness excluding from the pillar, and for some reason beyond his understanding, Duncan lifted his blade and gave a great shout into the air that was joined by the voices of thousands of warriors. Deep in their hearts they understood. The Lich King had fallen.

And finally, the sky erupted. The pillar exploded in a massive display of arcane wrath as Icecrown Citadel splintered as great cracks descended down its walls, before finally crumbling onto itself. The undead were frozen in their place as their strings were no longer being picked and pulled at the whims of a madman. Duncan's tears ran freely from his eyes as, despite all that had happened, the remnants of the Onslaught had done what needed to be done, even if they had to ally their enemies to do so. Finally, the scourge was no more. Lost in his joy, even the feeling of his tears freezing upon his cheeks did nothing to dampen his spirit. Then from somewhere amidst the endless legions of death, a scream split the air and sent shivers running down his back. The undead, docile only moments before, threw themselves at the Alliance and Horde soldiers with a fury that took him back. Many of them were no longer even attempting to swing their blades, instead they lashed out with their nails and teeth. Duncan nearly lost what little stomach contents he had left when a ghoul jumped on top of a Tuaren and tore out its throat with its teeth. The foul creature lapping up the gushing blood, not noticing or caring that the Tuaren was falling. The dead tuaren landed with a loud crash and the ghoul flailed beneath it still trying to bite and tear at the flesh.

It was a common scene, Duncan's hands were shaking out of control in fear, and he saw steam rise from the front of the other terrified scarlet soldiers pants. The Scourge were feeding. Dozens fell beneath the tidal wave of biting teeth. The screams turning into gurgles as they drowned on their own blood as pieces of flesh were torn off. Everywhere he could see; they were being overrun by the endless stream of undeath.

"Retreat! Fall back!"

Duncan snapped his neck in the direction of the sound and saw Darion, the 'redeemed' Death Knight waving his great rune sword trying to rally the soldiers and get them moving.

"Retrea.." The Death Knight was cut off as the undead swarmed him and his men tearing and gnawing at anything they counld find and it sent terror deep within Duncan's heart. They didn't care that Darion was one of their kind, they were just feeding. On everything. The next moments were blurs as his screams soon joined the others in the army as he too fled for his life.


End file.
